


Compromise

by goresque



Series: Taken In Hand [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Other, Praise Kink, Public Humiliation, Spanking, brat taming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: Optimus stumbles into the shenanigans of Rodimus and Megatron, in which he gets roped into teaching Megatron's unruly sub a lesson.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Optimus Prime/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Taken In Hand [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571881
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo here's a good heaping pile of smut.
> 
> The title "daddy" is used with the idea that the title, for a dominant, means a caregiver. It is represented as a position of power within a safe, sane, and consensual setting. If that's not your cup of tea, let this be your warning.

The next time Optimus saw Megatron after their scene was at  _ Visages. _

They hadn’t decided to meet up, rather they had both ended up at the club for similar reasons. It wasn’t hard for the mecha in their situation to find their way to Mirage’s business; they all had idle time and servos that were put to better use than what being alone could offer. 

Optimus knew he wasn’t Megatron’s only play partner, they had discussed it at length and both determined it was best if Optimus learned from more than just one partner. That didn’t mean it was any less surprising to ascend the stairs to a very public spanking being delivered to none other than Rodimus by Megatron himself.

Optimus had never seen Megatron in a scene with another submissive. He had experienced Ratchet’s brand of play with Megatron only once, and there was a part of him that burned to see Megatron under a whip again; this was different.

Megatron was sitting with splayed knees on a piece of equipment that, Optimus had squirmed upon finding out, was colloquially called the “breeding bench” by other patrons. He had Rodimus stretched across his whole lap, actively putting the younger mech off balance as he rained down open palmed strikes across Rodimus’s aft and thighs. It lit a fire in Optimus to hear Megatron growling above Rodimus, no doubt expressing all sorts of lewd promises. 

Optimus came closer, captivated by the punishment being broadcasted through the play-room. A few mecha were hanging about where Optimus slotted behind them to keep attention off himself. Jazz was leaning by a wall, visor gleaming as he watched Megatron give Rodimus’s aft hell. Ironhide was sitting not too far away with Sunstreaker laying against his chest like putty. 

He could hear Megatron’s glyphs now, just loud enough for a gathered audience to hear but intended to get under the very protoform of his submissive. Optimus flushed as he heard Megatron huff above Rodimus’s audial, “Ready for mercy yet, brat?”

Rodimus was sobbing around a ball gag, his pedes flicking back and forth without any real strength and his optics streaming light and fluid. Optimus took notice of Rodimus’s open panel, the way his yellow and orange spike rubbed against Megatron’s thigh with every slap. Rodimus’s field was molten hot, lust and neediness tangible across his plating with every arc of electricity that sparked.

There was a moment where Megatron caught sight of Optimus, and upon meeting his optics, leaned down to whisper something inaudible in Rodimus’s audial. Whatever he was saying had halted his strikes, Megatron’s palm sliding along Rodimus’s heated, tender ass in soothing circles.

Whatever Megatron had said to him, Rodimus snapped out of his foggy headspace. He seemed to see the crowd watching him for the first time, and a fresh wave of tears spilled forth from him. Optimus would have been concerned if not for the distinct roil of  _ euphoria _ in Rodimus’s field.

Megatron delivered several strikes along Rodimus’s aft again, and Optimus watched as Rodimus contorted and squalled against the gag in his mouth. The younger mech’s overload lasted throughout Megatron’s spanking, his whole frame jerking with every hit. 

It took several kliks for Rodimus to go completely still across Megatron’s lap. His plating steamed, and Optimus wondered if he had gone completely offline.

_ [Would you care to join us?] _ Megatron commed from where he sat. It startled Optimus out of his awe. Before Optimus could ask, he added,  _ [Rodimus has already enthusiastically agreed to your presence.] _

_ [Of course,] _ Optimus commed back, pinging Rodimus for his server information. He was still getting used to the program, but Mirage had insisted upon an application that connected all of their survey results and compared them. It also came with a built in check-in ping that allowed them to ask for a color quickly. 

Rodimus accepted his ping after several moments and sent a strong green response back. His survey result packet was pushed along the line of communication, highlighting his penchant for disobeying his dominants. 

Optimus had never played with Rodimus before. He had no idea what to expect, and so when he approached the two of them he looked to Megatron for guidance.

As Megatron readjusted Rodimus so he was leaning against his chest he unclipped the gag from his submissive and then motioned to Optimus. “Would you mind cleaning the bench for me? Then you could help cuddle him on the couch.”

Rodimus whined indignantly in Megatron’s arms, pressing his face into the larger Mech’s chest. He mumbled something against Megatron’s broad vents, sounding rather petulant. 

“What’s that, brat?” Megatron asked, his voice hitting a dangerous note that had Optimus shuddering. That voice held promises, rather than threats. 

“Don’t want to yet,” Rodimus said, barely loud enough for Optimus to hear. The younger mech responded positively to a concerned ping, only turning his face further into Megatron’s neck. His field was pulsing with shy excitement. 

“Use your words,” Megatron admonished, pinching Rodimus’s face and forcing him to look over at Optimus. “Look at Optimus, boy, and tell him what you want.”

Rodimus’s cheeks were a dark shade of purple, his optics wet and bright from crying during his punishment. He refused to meet Optimus gaze as he said, “I don’t want aftercare yet.”

“Because?” Megatron prodded. Optimus swore he felt Rodimus burn hotter with those words.

“Because aftercare means the scene is over,” Rodimus mumbled, still meeting neither Optimus’s optics or Megatron’s.The words sounded rehearsed, as if Rodimus were reading rules off of a flimsy. “And I’m not done yet.”

Megatron nodded and decided to scoop his submissive up with him as he stood. Rodimus groaned in displeasure at being moved, but clung tight to Megatron’s frame. Optimus tried not to feel jealous.

_ [You mentioned being interested in dominating under certain circumstances,] _ Megatron pinged, waiting as Optimus sanitized the bench as asked. When Optimus pinged back an affirmative he went on to say,  _ [Rodimus is feeling shy. He wants you to be a part of our scene, but he doesn’t want to ask you himself.] _

_ [Is my presence overwhelming?] _ Optimus asked, hoping to clarify exactly why Rodimus was feeling shy about asking him. He’d never known Rodimus to be shy about anything. They all settled onto an open sofa with Rodimus keeping himself sequestered in Megatron’s lap, squirming with relentless vengeance under the grey mech’s arms.

There was a brief pause as Optimus waited for Megatron to stop conversing with Rodimus over comm, and Megatron responded with,  _ [He’s embarrassed. Because he overloaded when I told him you were watching his punishment.] _

Optimus’s optical ridges rose in playful delight, coiling his firm field against Rodimus’s. He’d always thought Rodimus attractive of course, not many could say they didn’t, but Optimus had never thought Rodimus ever looked at him as anything other than a mentor and an idol. There were a lot of complicated feelings between them, though Optimus didn’t think any were negative. 

Primacy was simply complicated, that was all. 

Megatron forwarded a file to Optimus just then, which he found to be a plan for the scene Megatron and Rodimus had set up. Optimus had arrived towards the end of it, but it seemed that the public punishment had been the goal. Optimus sent Rodimus a query tagged with two glyphs,  _ [Humiliation? Disobedience?] _

Rodimus hit him back with an enthusiastic ping.

“Daddy?” Rodimus said, his voice raw from crying. He was squirming in Megatron’s lap, his frame bouncing back after his intense punishment. His frame was still unnaturally hot. “I want a treat.”

“Hush,” Megatron told him, a servo coming to stroke along Rodimus’s neck. “You’ll get your due when the big mechanisms are done talking.” 

Optimus couldn’t hold back a small laugh as Rodimus harrumphed and buried his face into Megatron neck once more, this time daring to press little kisses against the thick cables there. Megatron ignored him in favor of Optimus. 

“Would you like to make use of my brat?” Megatron offered, giving Rodimus’s aft a pinch. The squirming submissive twitched away from even the slightest touch. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t the experience in training unruly mecha to hand,” Optimus answered honestly. There was a hunger gnawing at his tank as he witnessed Rodimus on Megatron’s lap. He was pure motion, liquid heat, generating charge just from his own writhing. The openness in Rodimus’s field was familiar, and Optimus found his spark harmonizing with the warm feeling of submission. He wanted that same feeling, and also to be the cause of it.

“No worries,” Megatron assured him, giving Rodimus’s ass a fond pat. “Rodimus will be a good boy for you. Won’t you?”

Rodimus didn’t hide this time, but did divert his gaze to his lap. His field pulsed with a sting of humiliation as he was prompted to respond, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. Otherwise you won’t be offered a privilege like this again.” Megatron broke the hold he had around Rodimus’s body and spread his arms across the back of the sofa. He leaned back, watching as Rodimus took his cue to slide to the floor at Megatron’s pedes.

Optimus’s attention was completely taken by Rodimus, observing how he seemed to perk up a bit more once he stopped trying to hide himself. He posed pretty for Optimus to see him, his spoiler wings twitching with charge and his field hot with the scent of ozone. His yellow and orange spike peeked between his silver thighs. The very tip of it highlighted by a golden ring pierced through the slit that housed his jack and the ridge below the head of his spike. 

The longer Optimus stared, he noticed the more Rodimus squirmed and pulled back. The confidence Rodimus had postured upon gaining Optimus’s attention was rapidly dwindling.

“What do I have the pleasure of calling a treasure like you?” Optimus rumbled, leaning on his years of acting the role of the Lord Prime. It seemed to snap Rodimus out of his own helm. 

“You can call me boy,” he muttered, gaze flickering between Optimus’s steady optics and his lap. Then, with a wary glance at Megatron he added, like an afterthought, “Sir.”

There was a subglyph attached to Rodimus’s words that indicated rejection of authority, though it seemed to be intended for Megatron rather than Optimus. 

Megatron’s engine revved with promise. 

“Forgive his manners,” Megatron growled, one servo coming to rest on his knee. Optimus watched the way Rodimus’s optics followed his hand with rapid focus. The younger Prime’s field pillowed out in a rush of  _ excitement- glee- trust. _ “Greet my old friend Optimus properly.”

Optimus pinged Rodimus just in case, wondering if his presence was causing him any performance anxiety. He received a strong affirming ping in return. He relaxed and leaned back against the back of the sofa, his knees spreading apart in anticipation. 

Rodimus slithered forward until he knelt between Optimus’s spread legs, looking rather demure looking up under his shutters. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir,” Rodimus purred, and Optimus cherished the way Rodimus’s field went lax against his own. There was a trust there, under Rodimus’s excitement and arousal, and Optimus pulsed his gratitude through his field that Rodimus had gifted it to him. He was meeting Rodimus the submissive for the first time, and so he treasured the introduction. “You can play with me. My Daddy said it was alright.”

Optimus dug through Rodimus’s survey results, peering for his preferences as he stroked his jaw, as if contemplating Rodimus’s offer. When he found the information he desired, he detailed his intent in a quick comm to Rodimus, who enthusiastically pinged back,  _ [Super green.] _

“You said you wanted a treat,” Optimus hummed, his glossa thick with arousal already. His panel transformed apart and he pressurized his spike, a hand coming to stroke in long, lazy draws. He fondled a node just under the head of his spike, humming as it engorged further under his own teasing.

Rodimus looked ready to dive between Optimus’s legs before he paused and glanced at Megatron, who was still watching with hungry optics. Rodimus squirmed on his heels and said, “Sir, may I- pleasure your spike?”

“Good boy,” Megatron rumbled from his seat, his gaze shifting from Rodimus to Optimus. The way Rodimus’ voice caught in his embarrassment had Optimus’s spike twitching. He nodded to Optimus, giving the theoretical reigns of the scene to him.

“You may,” Optimus said, engine rumbling with the delight of having Rodimus’s heated frame pressed against his thighs. He rested a servo on the younger mech’s pauldron, fingers idly searching out sensitive seams to wedge into and tickle. Rodimus’s squirming only intensified. Optimus could see exactly which disciplines may come slower to a submissive with so much energy.

Rodimus wasted little time; whether it was due to his training at Megatron’s servo or it was his own excitement that drove him, Optimus wasn’t sure. Rodimus nuzzled his cheek against his spike, one hand sliding along the side as his glossa peaked out to tease the plaited underside. Rodimus’s tongue was hot, so hot Optimus worried his metal might melt under the young Prime’s touch. 

“You’ll find my boy is well trained at taking spike,” Megatron purred from the side, motioning to Rodimus, “He even completed his next level of deepthroat training. Perhaps you’d like to experience it?”

“In time,” Optimus said, waving off Megatron’s comments. Part of him was consolidating the thrill of shrugging off his dominant’s suggestions without reprimand. Even so, the mere thought of his spike sliding down Rodimus’s well trained throat was enough for his spike to twitch against the young Prime’s lips. He steeled himself, assuring his spike that there would be plenty pleasure to be had soon enough. “I want to see him work for it.”

Rodimus both preened and shrunk under the challenge. He kept steady eye contact with Optimus as he eased the spike into his mouth, giving Optimus the perfect view as he bobbed his helm.

“That’s a good boy,” Optimus hummed, one servo coming over Rodimus’s audial. His thumb brushed the shell of Rodimus’s helm fin, not daring to push the young Prime down onto his spike for fear he would choke him. It would be a shame to ruin Rodimus’s hard work and concentration. 

Optimus knew as soon as he felt Rodimus’s field light up that his choice of praise had been correct. Rodimus’s survey had an emphasis glyph on  _ praise kink, _ and Optimus would take advantage of that fact.

“Tell me,” Optimus rumbled, stroking a digit along Rodimus’s cheek. He sighed out a moan as the younger Prime sucked the tip of his spike, optics never leaving him. “Why does Megatron call you ‘brat,’ my dear?”

The question made Rodimus squirm, his field filtering through with concern. Whether it was about being reprimanded or about discussing his kinks, Optimus had no idea. He slid off of Optimus’s spike, hands coming to warm the slick shaft.

“Because… because I…” Optimus couldn’t hear the next words Rodimus admitted. He shielded himself behind Optimus’s spike, still rubbing to keep his attention. 

“Again,” Megatron interjected with intense sharpness, his words sending a tangible shudder through Rodimus.

Before Rodimus could respond, Optimus held up one servo to silence Megatron. His other servo stretched to catch Rodimus by the chin, forcing his submissive to meet his gaze. Rodimus positively steamed to the touch, his optics gaining a far-away glint as he was manhandled. 

Optimus brought him back with a purr of his engines, “So I can hear it, darling.”

“It’s ‘cause…” Rodimus flushed, squirming under Optimus’s spotlight. “‘Cause sometimes I don’t obey.”

“Sometimes?” Optimus coaxed. He cradled Rodimus’s face between both servos, pulling Rodimus in even closer. He tilted his hips up in a slow roll, rutting against his submissive’s face. Rodimus’s field smoldered like a barely contained wildfire. 

“A-a lot,” Rodimus whimpered, tongue sliding against Optimus’s pulsing spike. He looked as if he were drowning in his submission, optics glazed and dim. 

“Then show me you know how to be a good boy,” Optimus purred, gripping his cord at the base. He used his other servo to push Rodimus’s helm down, feeding the younger mech his spike. 

Rodimus eagerly swallowed around Optimus’s shaft as it went deeper, allowing the head of his spike past his fuel valve. Optimus shifted his hips, a steady servo behind Rodimus’s helm. Optimus almost missed the way Rodimus tilted his helm back just slightly, allowing Optimus’s spike to slide into constricting throat tubes. 

“That’s it,” Optimus moaned out, the servo on Rodimus’s cheek stroking idly. His hips buckled under Rodimus, restraining himself from choking the younger prime. “What a good boy.”

The praise had Rodimus squirming, thighs pressing together around his spike to provide much desired friction. Optimus leaned forward and swatted at the young Prime’s wandering servos, not allowing him to explore his own arousal. Rodimus could barely contain the desperate keen deep in his full throat.

“I am most certain your Daddy doesn’t let you touch yourself without permission.” He knew because it was how Megatron played with him. Optimus regained reign of himself upon seeing the tearful look of utter subjugation in Rodimus’s flaring optics. Optimus chuffed, curling a servo around Rodimus’s helm, thumb stroking at his audial fin. The choked sob Rodimus let loose around his spike was answer enough. “This isn’t for you, boy. It’s for your Daddy, and for  _ me.” _

The effect of his words was instantaneous. Rodimus’s entire field bubbled, and then just as soon as it had begun, it went lax and malleable. His servos stayed dutifully on his knees, his optics half-shuttered and far away as he allowed Optimus full control of his movements. Rodimus’s whole frame shuddered as Optimus pushed him down so deep his nose was buried against the elder Prime’s musky spike housing.

“You’ve got him deep,” Megatron rumbled from where he sat. He had one servo on his spike, unabashed in his self pleasure. The other held his drink, taking a casual sip before he said, “You know he’s going to want you again.”

“I would cherish more time with him,” Optimus said truthfully, stroking Rodimus’s helm. Rodimus was barely aware of them, too entrenched in his submission to hear anything but that Optimus  _ cherished _ time spent with him. Cleaner fluid streaked his cheeks in hot rivulets. His armor burned, steam billowing from open seams as he became one with his baser desires.

With such an erotic display it was a wonder that Optimus lasted as long as he did. Armor rattling, Optimus unloaded his transfluid directly into Rodimus’s fuel tanks with a thundering roar of his engines. It petered off to a gentle purr as he relaxed against the sofa.

“What a good boy,” Optimus whispered into Rodimus’s audial as he lifted the racer up off his spike and into his lap. He held Rodimus tight against his windshield, letting the younger Prime nestle into the crook of his neck. “You’ve done so well, for both me and your Daddy. Do you want to overload?”

The only noise Rodimus could manage was static, nodding against Optimus’s chest. He didn’t resist the servos manhandling him into place astride Optimus’s lap, savoring the slide of the larger Prime’s broad digits against his molten valve. Optimus circled Rodimus’s node with vigilant focus, earning breathy moans and whistling vents from the racer. Rodimus’s entire frame pulsed, hips rolling down to grind his sopping valve down against Optimus’s thigh. Every tilt of his hips had him closer to the edge, until he finally fell.

Witnessing Rodimus’s overload was a privilege. Optimus tucked the young Prime against his chest, whispering praise into his audial as he glanced towards Megatron. Megatron had already unsubspaced two cleaning cloths, handing one off to Optimus. The other he used to wipe Rodimus’s faceplate with tender care.

“He’ll be a lump for quite a while,” Megatron hummed as he produced Rodimus’s favorite tarp from his subspace. Once his submissive was cleaned, Megatron tucked the tarp around Rodimus’s shoulders. “Let’s take this to one of the private rooms.”

Optimus cradled Rodimus like a precious package. He whispered sweet nothings to him, enforcing the security of the tarp around the limp frame in his arms. Once they were hidden away into one of the aftercare rooms, Optimus joined Megatron on the berth and sandwiched Rodimus between them.

“How does he like to be taken care of?” Optimus asked, aware of just how dim Rodimus’s optics were going. 

“It takes him a while to come around. Our resident medics have said it’s something like a soft reboot,” Megatron hummed, pressing kisses along Rodimus’s helm. “He likes to be pampered when he regains himself. He’s one that needs a lot of cuddling. Don’t worry, Prime, you will be put to task shortly. He’s fond of having his valve eaten before his post-scene massage.”

“You always did have a knack for finding the most high-maintenance of mecha in your berth.”

Rodimus came to awareness slowly, the sound of his two dominants bickering lightheartedly rousing him. He whined, pawing at Megatron’s side to gain his attention. “Daddy?”

“Not anymore, Rodimus,” Megatron hushed, his attention turning solely to his submissive.  _ [No titles during aftercare,] _ Megatron sent to Optimus over comms,  _ [He needs us all to be on the same level to come out of his role.] _ Megatron brushed a claw against Rodimus’s damp faceplate. “It’s just Megatron now.” 

“Kay,” Rodimus grunted, letting his helm fall back onto the slab. He looked as if he were recalibrating his perception module, the backlight of his optics slowly coming back to full brightness. Several seconds of shifting later, Rodimus emerged from the tarp, legs splayed wide. “Hey. What’s a bot gotta do to get eaten out around here?”


End file.
